


things we lost in the fire

by NoirSongbird



Series: a lion still has its claws [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Acxa/Krolia, Background Allura/Zethrid, Background Hunk/Narti, Background Pidge/Ezor, F/F, F/M, Fractured Team Dynamics, Imprisonment, Lance (Voltron) Has ADHD, M/M, it's not directly referenced so far but adhd!Lance just happens when i write him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15154877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/pseuds/NoirSongbird
Summary: After a year spent with Lotor and his Generals, going from sort-of-prisoner to General himself, Lance is finally back with Voltron. He and his new team had hoped that their daring rescue on Naxela, saving his former comrades from a Haggar-controlled clone of Shiro, would be enough to win an alliance--but Voltron isn't so eager to forgive and forget, and neither is Lance, especially not when he, Lotor, and the Generals end up imprisoned on the Castle of Lions.Tensions rise as more information begins to emerge as to the fate of the original Shiro, but Lotor offers a gift in return for alliance—the location of a lost ally—and volunteers Lance to help with the recovery mission, and Voltron accepts.Unfortunately, Haggar is cannier than anyone gave her credit for--and even once her first plan seems dealt with, she has plenty more waiting in the wings, including an old enemy of both Voltron and Lotor's who is more than eager to have his shot at revenge.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So basically since _past the point of no return_ dropped, I've been hyped to write a sequel, and it seems like everyone who's read it is hyped to get one as well!
> 
> IT'S HERE, WOO HOO. 
> 
> I'm gonna do my best to keep a reasonably consistent update schedule between work on Big Bangs and other commitments, but fuck, y'all, I am so excited to tell this story. SO. EXCITED. Without further ado, let's get going!!

Lance paced back and forth, as much as the tiny, circular cell he was in allowed him to. This was, in his estimation, absolutely  _ awful;  _ of all the receptions he’d expected from his old team, being separated and stuck in individual Solitary Confinement Tubes was not on the list. Sure, he hadn’t exactly expected everything to be sunshine and rainbows, because things were not, for him, sunshine and rainbows, emotionally speaking, but  _ being locked away like prisoners? _ That was some hot bullshit.

Some hot, anxiety inducing bullshit. Lance hated the crawling feeling of being watched, and he hated knowing that his...former, apparently, friends distrusted him. Like, yes, he was very much pissed at them. No, he was not actually over the whole “left him in the hands of the Galra for months” thing. He wasn’t exactly eager to kiss and make up, not when he didn’t foresee a lot of apologies incoming. 

Didn’t mean he liked being treated like a prisoner on the castleship that  _ used to be his home. _

Idly, he banged on the glass, like that might attract attention, because the whole “being left alone” thing was especially frustrating. He was locked up, separated from Lotor and the rest of his  _ actual  _ team, and goddamnit he wanted  _ someone  _ to fucking talk to him, even if it was an interrogation. Literally anything, so he wasn’t just left alone with his thoughts.

“Hey! Real Power could use a magazine or something, right now! This is quiznaking  _ boring!” _ Alright, he wasn’t super familiar with the team’s Marvel literacy, but he knew Hunk had seen  _ The Avengers  _ because they’d watched it together and Pidge totally seemed like the type of girl who watched superhero movies, so he was pretty hopeful the reference would land, and this sure as hell felt like being stuck in the Hulk cage. He was pretty sure, to be fair, that  _ he  _ was neither the thing it was built for nor the terrifying trickster god it ended up containing, but details.

The terrifying trickster god was probably Lotor, in all fairness to the comparison being made, and if he had to pick a Hulk, Zethrid would be in the running, even if she didn’t  _ physically  _ change between brutal bloodlusting warrior and remarkably huggy bloodlusting bestie.

He wasn’t sure what that made him. He certainly wasn’t Captain America—that was probably Acxa, if he was strictly sticking to filling roles using Lotor’s team. Ezor was like a really perky Natasha Romanoff, and Narti was a somewhat creepier Scarlet Witch. That lineup wasn’t  _ perfect,  _ but Narti  _ was  _ the one with the mindfuck powers, so, close enough. Lance….Lance was maybe Hawkeye. If Hawkeye was also really good with a sword, on top of being really really good with a bow. Or a gun, in Lance’s case, and—

And that was  _ more  _ than enough Marvel, because Marvel wasn’t going to get him out of this creepy, claustrophobic cage.

He banged on the wall again, bitterly.

“And hey, did you remember to leave Narti her cat? Because it’d be pretty fucked up to take somebody’s seeing eye animal, and I thought you were supposed to be the good guys!” Not that he thought appealing to his former team’s inherent goodness or whatever was his best possible move, but it was what he had on the table.

Lotor probably had a plan, or he was doing something productive like formulating one while he waited. Lance was...less good than Lotor at planning on the fly, but he liked to think “keep talking until someone got annoyed enough to come down” was somewhere on the scale of useful things to do.

“Also, hey, just wondering,” he said, “anybody got like, a bouncy ball or something? Literally anything I can use to entertain myself in here? Anything at all? Nope?” He sighed, dramatically, and flopped down on the couch that served as his bed. “Ugh, I am gonna be  _ so bored.  _ How long do you plan on keeping us in here, anyway?”

Still nothing. No answers, no reactions, no opened doors, but Lance was nevertheless sure there were eyes on him. It was the only smart thing to do; you didn’t imprison people and then  _ not _ keep an eye on them. So, fine. He’d keep chattering away at nothing and wait them out. He could do that. He could  _ absolutely  _ do that. They’d crack before he ran out of tangents to wander off on.

 

* * *

“Are you sure we can’t go down and like...talk to him?” Hunk asked, wringing his hands as he stared at the screen showing Lance’s cell. 

“No,” Keith said, crossing his arms. It looked like Lance, mostly, except that his hair had months of growth and he hadn’t bothered to trim it, so it was pulled in a ponytail that ended just past his shoulderblades. Just like the clone’s hair had been longer when Keith pulled him out of that pod. It also  _ sounded _ like Lance, that was for sure, but Shiro—no, the clone—had...sounded like  _ Shiro,  _ right up until he didn’t, and Keith wasn’t exactly eager to start trusting again. He knew that made him the asshole, here, but he’d compromised the team once, bringing the clone back to them. He wasn’t going to do it again. “I know this isn’t easy,” he said, and God did he know, “but we can’t be sure…”

“We didn’t lock  _ Shiro _ up when you brought _ him _ back,” Hunk said, tone more than a little accusatorial. Keith winced.

“And if we had,” Allura said firmly, “we may have been able to discover what the witch had done sooner.” 

“And, I mean, isn’t it really convenient?” Pidge asked. “How all of that fell out. Lotor and Lance show up  _ right _ when Shiro goes all evil-clone on us, and they  _ just happen _ to know what’s going on and have a device that can stop it? What was that thing Lotor  _ used,  _ anyway?” 

“Yeah, okay, but it’s  _ Lance.  _ He’s acting  _ exactly like Lance.  _ He’s exactly where we already knew he was. Y’know,  _ with Lotor, _ ” Hunk protested. “That’s  _ Lance,  _ and I don’t like leaving him in a  _ cage.” _

“We have no idea what Lotor did to him,” Allura said, “and Lotor  _ claims  _ to have been removed from power, and we all saw that battle, and heard Zarkon’s speech, but for all we know this is some kind of...long-game ploy.”

“You’re only saying that because he’s Galra,” Hunk accused, crossing his arms. Allura made a shocked noise, and Hunk narrowed his eyes.

“I absolutely am  _ not,”  _ Allura said sharply. “And lest you forget, he is  _ Zarkon’s son. _ We would be  _ idiots  _ to trust him, and if Lance has—”

“Lance isn’t stupid,” Hunk said, and then he spun around. “Ugh. Forget it. I’m gonna go cook, unless we’re planning to  _ not feed them,  _ too.” 

Keith pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. God, what would Shiro do here? The closest they’d encountered to this situation was Sendak, and he’d been unconscious, but Shiro had...Shiro had supported the idea to pull out his memories, because it was the best way they had to get information they might need. So, with six conscious prisoners, Shiro would…likely want to talk to them. Interrogate them. Find out what they might know and what they want with Voltron. 

Okay, there it was. That was a concrete plan. It wasn’t a great one, and Keith didn’t like how thinking too much about Shiro made his chest ache because  _ Shiro was gone, he’d never been back, Keith had stopped looking which meant that wherever Shiro was, he’d been trapped there for over a year.  _ He couldn’t get lost in grief, though. Not now. Not when, once again, he had no choice but to step up and lead.

He swallowed. 

“Hunk, wait,” he said, and Hunk stopped and turned around, crossing his arms. “We need to talk to Lotor,” he said, finally, “and the others. We need to know what they’re doing here, and what they want. So. We’ll split up. Allura and I will take Lance, Lotor, and Acxa. Pidge, Hunk, you two take the other three.”

“Sounds good,” Pidge said, and Hunk looked like he wanted to protest, but he gave a slow nod, finally. 

“Fine,” he said, though he didn’t sound happy about it. That was...good enough, Keith figured, because nobody was really gonna be  _ happy _ about this.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, and he wished he  _ felt  _ half as confident as he made himself  _ sound.  _ This wasn’t going to be easy, not by a longshot. But it was what had to be done.

 

* * *

This, in Lotor’s most positive estimation, was a less than ideal situation. In his more realistic estimation, it was a clusterfuck of epic proportions, to lift an expression he had heard Lance use. It could have gone worse, certainly; the Paladins could have attacked them. It was also a step up from captivity by the Empire, where a swift and painful death was the best they could have hoped for, and the more likely outcome was experimentation by Haggar until she bored of them and converted them into robeasts. Lotor was not, however, in a position terrible enough to take “at least we aren’t dead or condemned” as a victory. 

Locked in individual cells, separated across the Castle of Lions—and part of Lotor was still breathless with amazement that he was  _ on the Castle of Lions— _ was not where Lotor wanted to be. Being separated from his team, and from his lover, was….unpleasant, especially in the ways it allowed the mind to wander, and as much as he  _ wanted _ to believe that Voltron truly was better than the Empire and they were in no real danger, that was far too foolishly optimistic for him to really allow himself to accept it. Many people  _ claimed _ to be better than the Empire and to abhor their methods, but on far too many occasions, Lotor has found that they really only disapproved if the wrong people were being targeted.

If properly pushed, Lotor suspected, Voltron might do anything. Most people tended to get over their moral objections to unpleasant means when the ends suited them. 

He forced himself not to show any outward signs of his agitation. The Paladins were undoubtedly watching, and none of them needed to know that he was uncomfortable with the situation as it stood. Showing weakness would offer them a crack to slip through, and that was utterly impermissible, so he affected the most casual pose he could, leaning against the wall of his cell and waiting.

There were footsteps, and Lotor made a concerted effort not to overreact, merely turning his head towards the door they were coming through. There were only two people, and that was an interesting choice, but based on what Lance had told him, with their Black Paladin gone again, they were the two that leadership would default to. 

Keith, the half-Galra Paladin, first in the Red Lion and then in the Black, and Princess Allura, one of the last Alteans, made a Paladin in the wake of Shirogane’s initial loss. 

Under any other circumstances, Lotor might have been pleased to meet two people with whom he could share a connection—he was a halfblood like Keith, and Altean like Allura—but not under these.

“Princess,” he said, “Paladin.” A polite, flat greeting, something that gave them nothing at all to work with, he hoped. “I feel this level of security may be somewhat unnecessary, as all I or my team has done, recently, is save your lives.” He couldn’t help the dry quip, and he watched with some satisfaction as the Paladin briefly looked uncomfortably guilty. The Princess, though, never wavered from the narrow-eyed glare she fixed him with.

“For all we know,” the Princess said, “you, much like Shiro, are a plant sent by the witch.”

“If you imagine,” Lotor snarled, pushing himself away from the wall, and he knew that reacting with this much fury was a foolish thing and offered a very serious chink in his armor, but even the  _ suggestion— _ “that I would help the witch in any endeavor of hers, you are  _ strenuously  _ mistaken. She attempted to turn one of my Generals against me. I have no doubt that it was her whispers in Zarkon’s ear that convinced him that I couldn’t simply be left to my own devices and that I had to die, and my whole team with me.  _ No,  _ I am not some  _ plant  _ sent by the witch.”

“You seem pretty sure about that,” Keith said.

“It strikes me as highly unlikely,” Lotor said, and he took a moment to rein himself in, “that if I were in some way under her control and unaware of it, that she would have allowed...any number of the things I have done. I would not have been able to save your team, particularly. And before that, I doubt she would have allowed me to interfere in her attempt to capture your former Paladin.”

It felt strange to verbally distance himself from Lance, but it would be even more foolishly uncautious to make it sound as if they were close. He knew well enough what the Empire, and some of the more extreme resistance factions he had run into over the centuries, would do with that knowledge. He did not trust Voltron nearly enough to assume they wouldn’t do exactly the same thing.

“And why exactly  _ did  _ you step in?” The Paladin demanded, and Lotor raised his eyebrows.

“I had hoped for an alliance,” he said, and he gave a very significant glance at his surroundings, “though that seems to be very firmly off the table. I am no happier with my father crushing the universe to dust under his boot than any of you are, and letting Voltron fall back into his hands would be...disastrous.” A little bit of guarded honesty. Not half of what he’d given Lance, when he was trying to make him understand, but enough, he hoped.

“Is that so,” the Princess said sharply. She narrowed her eyes at him, and Lotor shrugged his shoulders.

“Believe me or do not,” he said. “It will obviously make little difference to my situation.” It might, of course, but outright suggesting Voltron might attempt to torture him or any of the others for information would likely put them off, since they clearly believed themselves to be the heroes of this little story. They might even be right, comparatively. And no hero ever wanted to believe themselves capable of terrible things, until the thing stopped being quite so terrible. “How are my Generals, by the by?”

“They’re fine,” the Paladin said, and he glanced over at the Princess, and she frowned.

“One last question,” she said. “The device you used on Sh—the clone. What was it?”

“A quintessence disruptor,” Lotor replied. “You confiscated the remainder with the rest of my arms. I developed them based on designs in the witch’s notes for the modifications she had made to the clone’s arm.” He exhaled. “It disrupted the link between her and her puppet long enough for me to end him.”

The Paladin looked distressed, and Lotor couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. There could be nothing easy about losing someone to Haggar’s machinations.  

“I...see,” the Princess said, and she was still frowning, but sometihng in her expression seemed a little different. “We will be back,” she said. Lotor gave a brief nod as he watched them go.

There was much to consider. How much to reveal, how much to hold back. What bits of intelligence might gain them the most, if Voltron were offered them. Ideally, he would bounce possibilities off Lance, as he knew his former team best; that was impossible, given the situation, so he would have to instead make his best guesses from what he could glean of them and what Lance had told him.

A treacherous situation, to be sure. But he would make it through, and he would ensure his team did as well. 

 

* * *

Narti very deeply disliked cages. She had spent far too much time in one before Lotor found her, on the backwoods world where her mind manipulation powers and strange appearance were naught more than a sideshow. Perhaps if she’d been raised by her father’s people, instead of dropped off by her Galra mother on the furthest planet she could flee to, things might have gone differently. 

That was not what had happened. 

She had thought she was done with cages, and with the cold, horrifying knowledge that she was alone, with no one who could understand her, so she could scream as much as she wanted and it wouldn’t matter. Apparently not.

At least she wasn’t blind. They hadn’t taken Kova from her, so he could still function as her eyes, and he was how she knew the unfamiliar approaching footstep patterns belonged to two of the Paladins. One was large, by what she had come to regard as human standards; tall and broad, probably capable of going toe to toe with even Zethrid, in a purely physical contest. They were softer around the edges than Zeth, but most people were. The one with them made a stark contrast; small and wiry, shorter even than Lance, who was absolutely tiny by the scales Narti was used to. The bigger one wore yellow; the smaller green. 

_ Hunk  _ and  _ Pidge,  _ she was fairly certain. They fit the descriptions Lance had given. 

“Um,” the yellow one—Hunk, probably—started, and he glanced over at the green one, and then back at her and Kova. “Can you….hear us?” He asked. Narti wished she could convey the amount of sarcasm she was feeling effectively, but a single sharp nod would do. 

“Okay,” the green one— Pidge—said, and then she frowned. Clearly these two weren’t exactly professional interrogators, and also clearly they hadn’t even bothered to come up with a strategy before coming in to talk to her. Absolutely amateurish. 

Whatever distress associated with being held captive Narti might have had evaporated, watching those two fumble over basic interrogation.

“We’ve got some questions for you,” Pidge said, putting her hands on her hips and attempting to puff up. 

Narti wished, not for the first time in her life, that she had something equivalent to eyes, so she could roll them. Some people and situations just….inspired that desire. 

Instead, she put to use one of the several vulgar human gestures Lance had taught her, in exchange for her teaching him Galra sign. It was the one he’d said was reasonably well-recognized, and also the simplest, really. She curled her fingers into a fist, except for the third one, extending it upward and presenting the back of her hand outwards toward the Paladins. 

She watched shock write itself across their faces, and did her approximation of a grin, which she supposed to them had to look creepy. They exchanged glances, and then dropped their voices, but not so low that she couldn’t hear.

“Did the….is she  _ flipping us off? _ ” Pidge asked.

“Looks like,” Hunk replied. “D’you think….”

“Lance,” Pidge said, and then she sighed and applied the palm of her hand to her face. Narti could relate. That was an emotion Lance was very good at inspiring. 

“Okay,” Hunk said, “um. Baseline. Can you even talk?” Narti shook her head.

“No voice. Can sign though,” she signed, and watched as twin expressions of utter bewilderment crossed the Paladins’ faces. She sighed. Of course they had no idea what she was saying.

“We’ll….come back later,” Pidge said, and Narti once again wished she had eyes to roll.

“Could have stood to plan better,” she signed, even though she knew they wouldn’t understand, because someone had to say it.

What an absolute disaster. Whatever else Voltron was, interrogators they were  _ not.  _

Narti found that oddly reassuring.

 

* * *

Acxa sat in her cell, and waited. This entire adventure had her on edge; she trusted Lotor implicitly, and she knew that he would get them out of here just fine, but there was absolutely nothing pleasant about being in custody, even custody of those she had little reason to think would harm them.

Lotor would disagree with that assessment, she was sure, but she remembered the Paladins who had freed her from where her ship was trapped in the weblum, and she especially remembered the fiery Red Paladin and how he had been so eager to help her. Keith, his name was, according to Lance. A name that was more familiar than she wanted it to be.

She owed him for saving her, if nothing else. 

As if her thoughts had summoned him, she watched him walk in with the Princess, Allura, at his side. His face reminded her of another one, though it had been a long, long time since she had laid eyes on Krolia. It was...strange, to stumble on her son, so many years after the two of them had parted company.

She couldn’t be certain, of course, but even the way he held himself reminded her of Krolia, and it made her chest ache just to think about it.

“If you’re expecting me to give you information,” Acxa said, “know that I don’t intend to reveal anything unless I’m completely certain it’s what Prince Lotor desires.” 

“Your loyalty is commendable, General,” the Princess said. She could feel Keith’s eyes on her, scrutinizing, and she gave him a half smile.

“I remember you,” she said, “from the weblum. You saved my life.” He looked startled, like he hadn’t quite finished making the connection himself. “Thank you.”

“Uh,” Keith said, “you’re welcome.” He shook his head, then, and crossed his arms. “Look,” he said, “you say you came here in good faith, but we need to know what you  _ want.  _ What Lotor thinks he’s getting, here.”

“Ask Lotor,” Acxa said, simply. “If he wanted you to know, he would have told you.”

“That’s bullshit,” Keith said. Acxa raised her eyebrows. “You’re his top General, aren’t you?”

“Not per se,” Acxa said. “The five of us are intended to be equals.” If anything, lately, Lotor favored Lance, but that was expected, given the nature of their relationship, and Acxa didn’t hold a grudge, really. “I have been with him the longest, if that’s what you’re getting at. We met shortly after his exile.”

“So you know what his plans are,” Keith urged, and Acxa shrugged her shoulders.

“Lotor keeps secrets. Not surprising, for someone in his position.” Not untrue, either. She  _ was  _ fairly aware of what the overall plan was, perhaps more aware than the others, but that was only because she had been there since its inception. Lotor kept many things close to the chest.

“Come  _ on, _ ” Keith said, and Acxa almost shook her head at how much he sounded like Krolia at that moment, “you don’t expect us to believe you don’t  _ know. _ ”

“You are  _ so  _ much like your mother,” Acxa muttered under her breath. She couldn’t be entirely certain, of course, but Krolia spoke of a baby named Keith on a planet called Earth, where the dominant species was humans, and here was a half-human, half-Galra from Earth named Keith that reminded her of Krolia in far too many ways, large and small. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“My  _ what?” _ Keith asked. He looked shocked, and Acxa supposed that made sense. Had he ever known Krolia? She had spoken of him as a baby, and no older. “How do you know my mother?”

Acxa frowned.  _ That  _ was a complicated question.

“...It’s a long story.” She said, “and not one I’m eager to tell.”

“Answer me!” Keith demanded, and he sounded anguished. Acxa winced.

“Keith,” Allura said gently, “now...isn’t the time.” She looked back at Acxa, and frowned. “If you don’t have anything useful to tell us, we’ll take our leave. But we will be back, and you may wish to reconsider how closely you hold your loyalties.”

Acxa shrugged, and she watched them walk away, and pondered.

“Keith,” she said, finally, as he was about to walk out of the holding area, and he paused, and turned back to her, “Krolia. Your mother’s name is Krolia.”

His eyes went wide, and he looked like he wanted to say more, but the princess gently tugged him away.

It was only fair, Acxa thought. A little bit of information was the least she could offer in return for saving her life. Nothing that might hurt Lotor or the others, but something that might help one of the Paladins. Krolia would want to see her son again, if she was still alive. Whatever else had happened, Acxa knew her enough to be sure of that.

 

* * *

Working through fighting forms was the best way Zethrid could think of to work off the excess energy she felt buzzing through her veins. Surrendering to the Paladins when she  _ knew _ the six of them could fight their way out had cost her a lot, emotionally speaking. To surrender was to show weakness, and Zethrid despised the idea of being weak. The Paladins were strong fighters, that was true, but Zethrid was still pretty sure that if they’d wanted to, her team could have taken them.

That wasn’t the  _ point _ , though, and she knew it. The point had been to present themselves for an alliance, and that was all politics, and Zethrid wasn’t  _ stupid _ , but she knew she didn’t have the twisty brain that politics required. She was a very straightforward person; punch things, shoot things, pick up cute girls, go home. Lotor and his eight agendas and twelve interlocking schemes were generally pretty beyond her, but she trusted him, and she trusted Lance to know his old team.

So, fine. There was sitting around and politicking to do. While everyone else was doing that, Zethrid intended to make sure that no matter how long they were in these little containment tubes, she stayed in shape.

There were footsteps, and she turned to see the yellow and green Paladins approaching. Pidge and Hunk, the ones Lance had talked about most when he started rambling about his team. Zethrid got the general impression that they’d all known each other before Voltron, but Lance had been pretty good at talking a lot without  _ saying  _ anything, which was a skill she could respect. 

She paused in her forms and turned to face them, because it was only appropriate that she give them due respect. They were Paladins of Voltron, and that was a pretty big deal.

Until it actually showed up, she’d always sort of thought Voltron was just a myth. The kind of story people told to give themselves and each other hope under Zarkon’s regime. That seemed more likely than actual magic lions that were relics of a people Zarkon destroyed, at least as far as Zethrid was concerned. Like some kind of mythical dying curse of the Altean people.

Yet she’d seen Voltron itself in action, and almost a year ago now, she’d pulled a Voltron Paladin from the wreckage of his Lion, and now here she was, sitting in a castle that was itself a relic of the Altean people. Maybe that last-dying-curse thing wasn’t as wild as she thought it was. 

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, looking down at the two Paladins in front of her. Yellow and Green, Hunk and Pidge, the ones Lance had spoken the most of. She’d gotten the impression the three of them were close, so if there was anyone she’d play nice for, she guessed it could be those two.

“Something you want?” She asked, and she watched twin expressions of relief write themselves across the two Paladins’ faces.

“You can talk,” Pidge said, and the relief in her voice was clear. Zethrid made a sympathetic noise.

“Tried Narti first?” she asked. “She speaks a Galra sign language. Lance can probably teach you, actually.” Hunk looked interested, and opened his mouth like he was going to ask more, but Pidge elbowed him in the side and hissed something Zethrid didn’t quite catch, but she was pretty sure it was “ _ focus _ ” or something like that. 

“We have some questions for you,” Pidge said, and she crossed her arms and puffed up, which was possibly the cutest threat display Zethrid had ever seen. Pidge wasn’t much her type, personally, but it was still adorable.

“Alright,” Zethrid said, slowly.

“So! First: how’d you manage to figure out how to find us?” Pidge asked.

“Broadcasts. We were tracking what the Empire was doing to try and stay ahead of ‘em, and we heard them saying the zone around Naxela was off limits by order of the High Priestess.” She wrinkled her nose, unhappily. “It was kinda a gamble, but hey, it worked out, right?” 

“Okay,” Pidge said. She was obviously leading, and everything about Hunk’s body language said he did  _ not _ want to be there regardless.

“Why?” Hunk asked, finally. Zethrid had a suspicion he’d wanted to ask that for a long time. “Why come help us?” Zethrid blinked, and she was sure her confusion showed on her face.

“You’re  _ Voltron.  _ You’re the only people trying to take down Zarkon that might listen to us. Enemy of my enemy.” Wasn’t it obvious? The only people who benefitted from Voltron being slaughtered were Zarkon and the High Priestess. “Look. I’m a simple girl, I’ve got pretty simple needs, I just wanna put my fist in the face of the biggest bastard in the universe. I’m not gonna get to do that personally, but I’ll be just as happy helping you guys do it.”

“That’s, um. Pretty straightforward,” Pidge admitted, and she frowned like she was annoyed that it actually sounded reasonable. “So what now?” Zethrid shrugged.

“That’s up to you guys, isn’t it?” She said, and then she crossed her arms and leaned back. “We’re in your castle, as your prisoners.”

“Um, yeah,” Hunk said, and he looked ashamed, and Zethrid noted that. Pidge didn’t seem all that bothered, but he did. She wasn’t sure if there would be use for that knowledge, or if she’d get the chance to communicate it to her team, but it was good to know anyway. “Look,” he continued, “thanks. For answering us.”

“Yeah, well,” Zethrid said, “we’d be pretty shit allies if I didn’t.” She gave them a broad grin, like she found the whole thing funny. “Another time?” She asked lightly.

“Yeah,” Pidge said, and she gave Zethrid a nod, as she and Hunk turned to leave.

 

* * *

Ezor sat, silently, and waited. She suspected that the Paladins would be coming around to talk to them eventually, and if she was gonna be stuck in here she might as well get her time’s worth in entertainment value. Camouflaging herself with the cell, so it looked empty? That, she suspected, would be  _ gold. _

She was right. She watched the green and yellow Paladins come striding in with all the cool confidence in the world, like they had any clue what the hell they were doing—and she suspected they didn’t, but it was still kinda cute—and then watched them stop and stare at her cell in shock.

“Oh my god,” Hunk said, “where is she? Do you think she got out?” 

“No way,” Pidge shook her head, firmly. “There’s no way out, those tubes are totally sealed.”

“Okay, then  _ where is she?” _ Hunk sounded like he was genuinely starting to freak out, and that was about when Ezor decided this particular stage of the fun was over and more could be had other ways. She uncamouflaged herself, and watched with amusement as they both jumped back in surprise.

“Looking for me?” She asked, cheerily. “Hi there! You must be Hunk and Pidge.” She batted her eyelashes at the little Green Paladin. “Wow, Lance really undersold how cute you are. I guess you’re not his type? That’s disappointing, because you’re totally mine, and I kinda wish he’d said something.”

“I, uh,” Pidge stuttered, and Ezor watched a flush crawl up her cheeks.  _ Cute cute cute cute cute.  _ “That’s not. What we’re here about, okay?” 

“Yeah, I know,” Ezor said cheerily. “You’re here to interrogate me, right? So come on! Give me your best shot! There is literally no way you’re scarier than the Druids, though, so you can try? But I’m not gonna give up much.”

“We don’t want to be  _ scary,”  _ Pidge said, and she was still obviously blushing. “We just want to ask you a few questions, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” Ezor said, and she had to force herself not to laugh because that was counterproductive or whatever probably, “hit me, let’s go.”

“Look, just...why are you here. What do you want,” Hunk cut in, and Ezor hummed.

“Like, me personally, or all of us? Because me personally, I want a lot of things, top of the list being a cute girl, a nice meal, and the absolute right to stab stupid people, but I guess that’s  _ not  _ what you’re asking,” Ezor sighed, dramatically. “So, like. We’re here because Lotor wants an alliance? And Lance seemed to think it’d be a good idea, I guess, and I trust Lance, and I trust Lotor, so here we are.”

“...Lance suggested coming to us?” Hunk asked, and he sounded so surprised, Ezor wondered how much he’d taken Lance’s anger to heart. She guessed she couldn’t blame him; Lance  _ had  _ been pretty angry, and she was sure that being caged and separated wasn’t gonna  _ improve  _ his mood.

“Well, yeah,” Ezor said. “And it makes the most sense, anyway. The Empire wants us dead, and a lot of the littler resistance groups aren’t gonna listen to  _ Lotor,  _ but we thought you guys might.” She glanced around. “Maybe we thought wrong.”

“It’s not that we don’t want to listen,” Hunk said, very quickly, “just…”

“I get it,” Ezor said, “he’s the Prince, we’re his Generals, we’ve been tangling with you guys for a  _ while.  _ You’re not gonna trip over yourselves to trust us. But give it a thought, okay? We’re here to help. Really. I promise.”

“I guess,” Pidge said, and she sounded unhappy. She was also very much not looking Ezor in the face, and that was pretty much peak hilarious as far as Ezor was concerned. “Look, we’ll be back,” she started, and Ezor grinned and gave her a broad wink.

“I look forward to it!” She said brightly, and then she laughed a little as they retreated.

Oh, that was  _ fun. _

 

* * *

By the time Keith and Allura came walking towards his cell, Lance had progressed past flopping around and monologuing boredly to kicking the wall to burn off his excess energy. He looked up when they walked in, and gave the fakest smile he could manage. 

“Hey!” He said brightly, with all the false cheer he could muster. “Keith, Allura, so glad you remember me! I was worried you’d stick me down here and lose me again.”

Keith looked off-kilter. Not that it was exactly unexpected, but Lance had a suspicion something had happened, more recently than the fight with Shiro.

“Lance, please,” Allura said, and she looked hurt, and Lance’s first instinct was to apologize, but none of them had even tried to apologize for leaving him behind. They could take a little hurt feelings.

“No, don’t,” he said, and then he glanced past her, over to Keith. “You’re welcome, by the way, for like, directly saving your ass.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith said, and Lance wasn’t exactly surprised to hear that he sounded surly and frustrated. Almost getting murdered by someone wearing the face of the person you most admired and had fought to save had to suck. “Look, Lance—” 

“Whatever you’re about to say, save it,” Lance said flatly. “I don’t want to hear your shitty excuse for throwing me in a Hulk cage and leaving me.” It rankled, honestly, for so many reasons, among them that the kind of assumptions they had to be making about Lotor that led them to think this was the right thing to do were so…completely off base.

“We can’t know that you aren’t some sort of sleeper agent, Lance,” Allura said, and she almost sounded genuinely regretful. “That you chose to work for Lotor—”

“I  _ chose  _ to work for Lotor because he’s a  _ good person,”  _ Lance snapped, “and he wants what we want, which is Zarkon off the fucking throne! I was never anywhere near the Druids, he made sure of that, and Haggar never got a chance to mess with my mind!”

“His General, Narti—” Allura started.

“Hasn’t done  _ anything  _ to me,” Lance said, and he crossed his arms. “I’m not being mind controlled. I’m not a clone. Lotor’s Generals pulled me out of the wreck you all  _ left me in—” _

“We were  _ ordered  _ to fall back—” Keith cut in angrily,

“ _ You should’ve told Shiro to go to hell and saved me anyway!”  _ Lance snapped. “This isn’t the fucking  _ military,  _ Keith, and from everything I heard about you back at the Garrison, you were  _ just fine  _ at telling  _ them  _ to go screw themselves when their orders sucked, but suddenly when it’s  _ Shiro,  _ oh no, we can’t question anything he says, ever.”

“You have  _ no idea  _ what you’re talking about,” Keith snarled, and he strode forward like he was full-on ready to open the door and fight Lance, and frankly Lance would have welcomed it. Allura put out a hand and caught him on the shoulder, though, and he stopped.

“Lance,” Allura said, voice soft, “we’re sorry for whatever you may have suffered at the hands of Lotor and his people.”

“ _ That’s not the fucking point, Allura, _ ” Lance said, angrily. “Here’s the open fucking truth: I didn’t suffer. Lotor and the girls were good to me. I chose to put on Lotor’s colors because I believe in him, and I believe in the vision he’s got for the universe. But none of you fucking knew that.  _ And you left me anyway.”  _

He’d done a lot more than just put on Lotor’s colors, for sure, but he was also pretty sure that  _ “but daddy, I love him”  _ would sort of undermine his general argument, here. Especially when Keith and Allura were shooting each other very concerned looks, like they were worried about his emotional health. 

Real cute, honestly.

“We’ll be back, Lance,” Allura said, gently, and then she started to retreat.

“Hey, great!” Lance said. “Could you bring like, a bouncy ball or something, when you do? I’m  _ really fucking bored.” _

“We can see,” Allura said, and then she tugged Keith off, even though he looked like he very much didn’t want to go. Lance gave a cheeky little wave as they went.

Let them go. They’d believe him or they wouldn’t. All there was for him to do was wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Existing on the astral plane, for Shiro, felt like being on the other side of a pane of glass. He could see through it, and hear through it, but he couldn’t  _ interact  _ with anyone, and he certainly couldn’t make them hear  _ him.  _

Never was that more frustrating than when he could tell a member of his team desperately needed help and there was nothing he could do about it. Watching Lance slowly fall apart with anxiety  _ killed  _ him, and Shiro desperately wished that he could do something.  _ Say  _ something. Make Lance hear him, let him know he wasn’t alone.

It wasn’t like Shiro didn’t get it. He’d been floating around the castle, listening, watching, and he knew about the clone situation and all the fun and exciting reasons his team had to suspect that one of their own might be brainwashed. He wasn’t… _ angry  _ about being played; he’d known something was up with the clone that had sat in Black’s cockpit and begged her to wake up because the team needed her, needed  _ him _ , but he’d let him fly Black anyway and hoped.

God, it wasn’t his fault. That version of him that had really, wholly thought he  _ was  _ him, that had just wanted to be the Black Paladin again. And it wasn’t  _ Lance’s  _ fault either, and Lance didn’t feel  _ off  _ the way the clone had, and there  _ certainly  _ wasn’t a ghostly version of Lance tangled up in the Lions’ hardware because the real version was dead. Lance was probably Lance, and Shiro wanted him to do something,  _ anything  _ to help him.

The problem was that Shiro couldn’t really interact with the real world. He’d tried. He’d tried desperately, in the months after he first disappeared, to give Keith a sign, a little nudge to tell him to  _ stop searching, Shiro was right there,  _ because watching Keith kill himself looking for Shiro was killing him all over again. He’d tried again when the clone had let Lance go down, trying to take over Black’s controls to send them after him, but  _ that  _ hadn’t worked either. He’d tried a thousand times to make Keith feel him when Keith was hiding in one of the Lions to get away from his feelings. 

Now, he wasn’t trying anything so abstract and complex.

Lance had worn himself out pacing and rambling, and had finally curled up on the couch and fallen asleep, and...frankly all Shiro wanted to do was give him something to distract himself with. He was pretty sure Lance’s room was still untouched, and he strongly suspected that Lance had some sort of fidget in there somewhere.

He didn’t  _ like  _ using his ghostly abilities to paw through his friends’ things, but in this circumstance, he’d make an exception. He was pretty sure Lance would understand, especially since he wasn’t so much pawing around as…sensing, sort of. Standing in the middle of the room, he could focus, and reach out—

And to his surprise, for the first time since his consciousness had merged with Black’s, Shiro felt a weight in his hand. Not much of one, just the weight of a small rubber ball exactly of the type Lance had been asking after, but enough. He grinned, and let out a whoop of delight, and nearly lost focus enough to drop the thing, which meant he had to scramble to catch it before it hit the ground and bounced off god-knew-where. 

He’d done it. It wasn’t much of anything, it barely qualified as interaction with the world, but he’d done  _ something,  _ and it had only taken a year and wanting to grab four out of five teammates by the shoulders and  _ shake them  _ for him to do it. Apparently there was something to be said for the power of sheer frustration. Or the power of just wanting to  _ help. _

He closed his eyes and took a breath, and when he opened them, he was back in Lance’s cell, where Lance was still asleep. He carefully set the ball down in Lance’s palm, curling his fingers around it, and then he left, to go check on some of the other prisoners. 

Maybe there was some small thing he could do for  _ them,  _ as well. 

 

* * *

“Okay,” Keith said, watching the camera feed of Lance delightedly sending the little rubber bouncy ball flying around his cell, “who cracked.” He turned and gave Hunk a long, slow stare, and Hunk slowly put his hands in the air.

“Wasn’t me. Where would I even  _ get _ one?” he pointed out. Keith had to acknowledge that was a pretty reasonable question. 

“Obviously not me,” Pidge said, adjusting her glasses so that she could give Keith a pointed look over them. Keith reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Princess?” he asked, and Allura didn’t even dignify that with a verbal response. Alright, fair enough, he supposed. “So it wasn’t any of us, it wasn’t Coran, and the footage for when he got it is on the fritz. That’s…great?” he said. It was, of course, objectively  _ not _ great, but what else was he even supposed to say?

“Could be that the ship’s haunted,” Hunk said, and he said it with so much serious, certain conviction that Keith actually felt bad for the very defeated sigh he let out.

“The ship is not haunted. Maybe there’s...another corruption in the system. Something the clone left behind.” He knew it wasn’t a great suggestion, but it at least…. _ was  _ a suggestion. 

“I can check into it,” Pidge said, “but we haven’t actually seen any other system malfunctions. Just this.”

“Which is nice, because I don’t think I could handle the betrayal of being attacked by the food goo system again,” Hunk said.

“Or getting the artificial gravity turned off on me while I’m working,” Pidge commented. Keith exhaled. 

“Look, just….check, please, Pidge, and get Coran’s help. If it  _ is  _ a corruption in the system, the quicker we find it, the better.” To say the least. Keith remembered last time—remembered barely fighting off the gladiator, and having to pull Lance in from an opened airlock.  _ That  _ wasn’t likely to happen again, since Lance was pretty arguably in the safest place possible, but it might be someone else, this time, and that was an unpleasant thought.

He glanced back at the feed, where Lance was still merrily playing with the bouncy ball. At least  _ someone  _ on this ship was having a good time.

 

* * *

“Commander,” Ranveigh said sharply, and Krolia turned from her observation of the weapon’s latest tests to face the Warlord. She kept her face carefully neutral, even though witnessing Ranveigh’s monster at work made her physically sick. She had to remember—it was necessary to keep doing this in order to follow the trail of the strange quintessence that Ranveigh had stolen from Lotor. “Report.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and she glanced down at her notes. “The weapon shows incredible physical capabilities and an intense propensity towards violence. It is, however, still….difficult to control.” Krolia wasn’t actually sure that the creature Ranveigh’s scientists had made even had the intellect to understand commands anymore. It was, as best she could tell, nothing but bloodlust on legs.

“How close is it to being ready to deploy?” Ranveigh asked. 

“Impossible to know,” Krolia said. “It may never be able to properly respond to commands, and therefore would always be a danger.”

“Nonsense. Even yelmors can learn,” Ranveigh said, and then he slapped Krolia solidly between the shoulders. “Pain is the best teacher, Commander. And you are an endlessly creative woman. Find a way.”

Krolia felt her skin crawl in horror at the thought of following that order. Hadn’t this poor creature suffered enough, pumped full of strange, pure quintessence and tortured into the monster that was now being herded back into its cage? 

Krolia longed to slip a knife between Ranveigh’s ribs, but he needed to remain alive to keep her cover intact and ensure she could continue her search. Whatever Lotor has been doing to get this powerful quintessence, it had to be awful, and maybe…

Maybe if Krolia could just  _ shove the evidence in Acxa’s face,  _ Acxa would finally see how misplaced her loyalty was. Whatever Lotor has done to earn it, Krolia was sure he didn’t deserve Acxa’s devotion or her service. Acxa was  _ better than that,  _ better than operating as the right hand of Zarkon’s brat.

So Krolia returned her attention to the experiment below her. Her only comfort was that she was fairly certain it was beyond the intelligent processing of pain. Still, it felt a bit like kicking a misbehaving yelmor. The poor animal hardly knew why it was being hurt. 

“Is there any further news on the source of Lotor’s quintessence?” she asked, and Ranveigh sighed heavily.

“Our codebreakers are still working on the coordinates it came from. So far, they seem to be pointing to the  _ quantum abyss,  _ but obviously that’s nonsense.” Ranveigh shook his head. “Not even Lotor is foolish enough to venture there.”

Krolia hummed idly.

“Absolutely mad, of course,” she said. “Possibly a false set of coordinates meant to obscure the real location.” But then, Krolia strongly suspected Lotor was reckless enough and  _ capable enough  _ to do just about anything, and venturing into the quantum abyss seemed  _ well _ within what she could expect of the fallen Prince. Let Ranveigh believe otherwise; she would have to get a look at the data herself. 

There was, at least, plenty of time. Whatever Lotor might be doing, at least he was safely out of power now, and she had more than enough time to investigate his sources.

In the meantime, she would swallow her objections to every horrible thing being done to Ranveigh’s living weapon and continue to do her damned job. Both of them, the one she did as Ranveigh’s second-in-command and the one she did as a member of the Blade of Marmora. Lotor could wait. This could not.

 

* * *

Getting attention, Shiro realized, was going to be a very complicated endeavor, even though he had finally figured out how to interact with the physical world. Considering his team was pointing fingers at each  _ other,  _ and completely ignoring any other possibility, Shiro was pretty sure he was going to have to do something else.

So, fine. He would have to find something they  _ couldn’t  _ dismiss, because if the team knew he was there….maybe they could do something. If there was anything at all to be done. Because Shiro did  _ not  _ find the idea of being a lost soul on a permanent basis pleasant. There was so much more he could do if he was  _ himself,  _ alive and in a body capable of interacting with physical reality on a consistent basis. 

It was almost disappointing that that was the  _ dream.  _

So. 

Pidge was going to be the hardest sell; she’d look for technical problems with the castle until the end of time if given the opportunity. Shiro followed her into the hangar where she and Hunk had set up her workshop, as she sat down to start working on her current project. It looked like a modified version of a Galra drone; he didn’t want to guess where she’d gotten a new shell, but it didn’t exactly surprise him to see Pidge trying to recreate Rover, because Rover had died nobly and too soon, and he absolutely deserved a second chance.

He watched Pidge fumble for a tool in her box, mumbling under her breath. 

“Hand spanner, hand spanner…” She muttered, and Shiro slid over to her second toolbox. He recognized that name, from when he’d sat down to help her tinker while he was trying to get to know her better, and a little focusing had the right tool appearing in his hand, so he could set it down next to her, right by her searching fingers. She made a noise of surprise when she found it, picking it up and blinking.

“Huh,” she said. “I could’ve sworn…” She shook her head. “Must’ve left it over here.” She turned back to the project, and Shiro didn’t even bother containing his frustrated scream.

It wasn’t like anyone could hear him anyway.

 

* * *

Shiro’s next stop was the kitchens. Hunk’s comment about the corrupted crystal, and about betrayal by food, had reminded him, and maybe…Keith had certainly seen him in action in a kitchen, and maybe if he destroyed this one, he could trip a memory. It’d be embarrassing to have his utter incapability in the kitchen exposed to the team, sure, but maybe Keith might realize… 

Shiro hoped it tripped  _ somebody’s _ memory, at least, because otherwise he was destroying Hunk’s and Coran’s perfectly good kitchen for nothing.

Playing with the food goo machines was likely to just put everyone back in the mind of the corrupted crystal, and send them chasing more technical glitches that didn’t exist. So he would have to get creative.

“Creative” meaning “recreating one of his famous screwups from the Garrison, but, like. Bigger.”

Overboiled, exploded spaghetti had been pretty embarrassing, then, and Shiro had really hoped that Keith, Matt, and Adam had all wiped the incident from their memory after they finished helping him clean up. Now, though, he had to hope  _ someone  _ remembered, because he  _ needed  _ Keith to know that it was  _ him. _

So he took a deep, slow breath, focused, and began moving things around. Pots, first, filled with water, and he didn’t bother being neat about that. He could apologize once he had everyone’s attention, and they understood that it was  _ him,  _ not some coding error or misplaced piece of equipment. That he was  _ here,  _ and he needed them to  _ listen to him _ .

If he had to make a little bit of a mess to make that happen? Fine. He could do that.

The stuff he dumped into the pots was enough like pasta that he was fairly certain it ought to function the same. If it didn’t, well…the rest of this display would work well enough, Shiro hoped, even without spaghetti on the ceiling.

He thought of old ghost stories, closed his eyes, and focused on all his fury and frustration, on how much he wanted to scream and punch the walls and grab everyone and  _ shake them until they listened,  _ and he focused all of that on the pots on the stove, and quickly enough he heard the sound of water boiling and hissing. He kept focusing, and pushing, and finally, he heard it—splattering and crashing as the water overboiled, and the pastalike stuff was sent flying, and when he opened his eyes, the kitchen well and truly looked like a disaster. There was water  _ everywhere,  _ the pots had scattered, and there were half-cooked noodles on just about every surface, and Shiro wanted to pat himself on the back for such a successful, complex bit of interacting with the world. 

He could hear footsteps running in, and watched the doors slam open, and there was his team, staring at the disaster he’d created with wide, shocked eyes.

“What…. _ happened  _ here?” Pidge asked. Hunk made a noise of despair, and Shiro felt a twinge of guilt, but he forced himself to ignore it, because there were bigger things at stake than a messy kitchen.

“It looks like something  _ exploded, _ ” Allura said, and she looked almost fascinated. “Could this be related to our other issues, perhaps?”

“I can’t see how,” Coran frowned, and he stepped forward, and Shiro automatically moved out of the way to let him examine things. “No one was cooking in here?” he asked.

“No, look,” Hunk said, and he moved forward too, “the stove’s off, and I don’t think any of us is irresponsible enough to just...leave stuff sitting on it and walk away,” he said. 

Shiro’s eyes were drawn to Keith, and he looked almost contemplative, and Shiro let himself hope.

“This is…wow,” Keith said, and the he laughed a little. “God, this reminds me of when Shiro tried to make spaghetti back at the Garrison. It was a  _ disaster.” _

“Yes, good, come on, baby,” Shiro said under his breath. “Make the connection. I’m here. It’s me.”

“Matt told me about that,” Pidge said. “Shiro was  _ hopeless  _ in the kitchen, right?”

“Totally. I think he’s one of the few people to actually get banned from cooking on Garrison property,” Keith said, and he was still smiling, but as much as that smile did things to Shiro’s heart, he wanted to scream because Keith was  _ not  _ making the leap he needed to make. “I wonder…” he started, and then he shook his head. “Nah, crazy.” He reached up to press the heel of his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, like that might drive whatever thought he was having from his mind.

“It must be some kind of odd malfunction,” Coran said, finally. “I can’t imagine what else…”

“ _ Goddamnit,”  _ Shiro said, and for a moment he considered picking up one of the pots and hurling it across the room. Let them try to write  _ that  _ off as a  _ malfunction.  _

That plan was completely derailed, though, when Keith swayed on his feet. Shiro ran over immediately, reaching out to steady him, but his hand passed through, and Keith’s eyes opened and he blinked, staring at the spot on his shoulder where Shiro had tried to grab him. 

“Keith!” Allura said, voice full of concern, and then  _ she  _ was the one steadying him, “are you alright?”

“Just...tired, Princess,” Keith said, and he shook his head again. “I haven’t...been sleeping the best, the past couple days.” Allura frowned. 

“Understandably,” she said, gently. “Go rest, Keith. You clearly need it. The rest of us can handle cleaning this up.”

“Are you sure?” Keith asked. “I can help, I promise—”

“Dude,” Hunk said, “if you’re so tired you can’t stay standing still? You’re way too tired to be cleaning. You’re gonna hurt yourself, and then you’ll  _ really  _ be down. Go take a nap.”

“Okay,” Keith said, and Shiro knew that it was a testament to how exhausted he must be that he didn’t put up more resistance than that. 

It was automatic, following Keith back to his quarters and watching him drop his jacket and boots and gloves by the door and then collapse in bed. Shiro wasn’t sure why he was doing it; he’d been careful about invading the others’ privacy before, but seeing Keith sway on his feet had him worried. Everything else could wait; he wanted to make sure Keith was okay. 

He knelt next to the bed, and was surprised to find that for ocne, Keith seemed to have fallen asleep quickly. He  _ must  _ have been absolutely exhausted, and wasn’t that just like him, running himself ragged because he thought everyone around him needed his efforts more than he needed to take care of himself.

Shiro sighed. Some things never changed.

He reached out, and focused, this time, so that he could brush Keith’s bangs away from his forehead and make sure that he really was sleeping as peacefully as he appeared to be at first glance.

A faint smile crossed his face, and he leaned in to rest his forehead against Keith’s, eyes slipping closed.

“I promise,” he said, softly, “I’m gonna find my way back to you.”

 

* * *

 

When Shiro opened his eyes, he was not in Keith’s room on the Castle of Lions.

Instead, he was in a strange, empty space, reminiscent of what he had come to associate with the astral plane that was his current address of record. 

However, unlike his usual experience on the astral plane, Shiro wasn’t alone. 

Keith was standing across from him, dressed down just like he’d been in the real world last time Shiro saw him, and as soon as his eyes fell on Shiro, he smiled so gently it broke Shiro’s heart and strode forward, reaching up and cupping Shiro’s chin.

“God,” he said, “I can’t believe…I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, the last thing I was thinking of was you.” He leaned in, and Shiro’s mind went completely blank, because  _ Keith was kissing him,  _ and this was…not how he had imagined their first kiss going. “It’s been a while since I dreamed of you like this,” he said, and his voice was so low and sultry that Shiro almost completely forgot anything else he could be doing, but. No.  _ Not now. _

Somehow, he had clearly managed to connect with Keith’s dreams, maybe through Black’s access to the astral plane and the lions’ connections with each other and their Paladins. Shiro wasn’t sure, and he definitely didn’t have enough time to think about it.

“Keith,” he said, gently, reaching up to grip his upper arms, “this isn’t that kind of dream.”

“It’s not?” Keith asked, and he blinked. “I dunno, I’d really like it to be.”

For a much longer moment than Shiro was proud of, he seriously considered forgetting anything else and just going with it. He could give Keith a connection he was clearly craving, and he could also have something  _ he  _ had wanted for longer than he liked to admit.

But it wouldn’t be fair. Keith thought he was dreaming; he had no idea that it was  _ actually Shiro  _ he was coming on to. It wouldn’t be right for Shiro to take advantage of that.

“Sorry, Keith,” Shiro said. “This isn’t…I mean, it’s a dream, but it’s not entirely…” He huffed, briefly. “I’m really here, Keith.”

“What?” Keith frowned, and he took a step back. “What do you mean,  _ really here?” _

“I think it’s something Black is letting me do—look.” It was a shot in the dark, but bringing up something Keith  _ knew  _ but would have no reason to  _ think of  _ in the middle of this kind of dream seemed like an easy way to get Keith to realize it was him. “When I was a kid, the first thing that I wanted to be was an astronaut. After that, a princess. Then, I wanted to be an astronaut princess. Then, my parents were incredibly confused because I insisted that I wanted to be a boy princess, which is apparently not a thing, and I was upset about that for  _ weeks. _ ”

“....Shiro,” Keith said, a little breathlessly, and then he flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and squeezing tight. Shiro slid his arms around Keith’s waist and held him close, and he could feel Keith’s entire body trembling, which set his heart pounding. “I’ve missed you  _ so much.  _ Where are you? Where have you been? What  _ happened?” _

“I think…” Shiro began, and then he swallowed. “I died, Keith. During that fight with Zarkon.”

“What?” Keith sounded utterly devastated, and he jerked his head off Shiro’s shoulders. “But you’re  _ here,  _ you can’t be…”

“Black saved me,” Shiro said gently. “And I’ve been in the astral plane, connected to her, ever since. I…you made me  _ so proud,  _ Keith. You were exactly the leader I knew you could be.” It seemed important, that Keith know that. “I figured out how to start interacting with the castle recently, and now…this.”

“So the ball, the kitchen, all of it, that was…you?” Keith asked, and then he started laughing. “I should’ve figured. I kind of did, but it seemed so  _ insane  _ that you’d be...hanging around as a ghost or whatever, recreating your piss-poor attempts at cooking from the Garrison.”

“I thought you’d recognize it,” Shiro said, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little too. “God, I’m so glad—not being able to talk to anyone has been driving me  _ insane,  _ there’s so much I want to say.”

“Can we start with something small?” Keith asked. 

“Sure,” Shiro said.

“How can we help you?” Keith asked. He was so utterly earnest, so  _ sure  _ that there had to be a way, and Shiro couldn’t help but grin.

“I don’t know, not yet. But I know you guys can figure something out.” He said, and Keith nodded. 

“Whatever it takes,” he said, and then he dropped his voice, even though there was no one else to hear. “ _ As many times as it takes.” _

Shiro had heard him make that promise to the clone. Hearing him make it again made his heart skip, just like it had the first time, and Shiro was overcome with the desire to kiss him. The only thing that stopped him was the distant sound of knocking—and Shiro suspected that had to be something from the real world interrupting them.

“No,” Keith said, frowning. “Not now, damn it.” 

“Go on,” Shiro said. “I’ll be right there with you, even though you can’t see me. I promise.” Keith looked miserable, like the thought of being parted again absolutely killed him.

If Shiro were being honest, it killed  _ him,  _ too.

Still.

“Your team needs you,” Shiro urged, and Keith let out a breath.

“Okay,” he said, and he paused, and for a moment, Shiro swore Keith was going to kiss him again— 

And he opened his eyes, and he was back in Keith’s bedroom, watching him stir awake and get up to go to the door.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” Allura said when he opened it, and she looked genuinely guilty, “but Lotor has asked to speak with us. He says it’s important.” 

Keith immediately straightened, and Shiro stood up too. Whatever the former Prince had to say, he intended to hear it. 

He had a feeling Lotor wouldn’t call them down to his cell for nothing.

“Just you and me?” Keith asked. Allura shook his head.

“He asked for all of us,” she said. Keith frowned. 

“Give me a minute,” he said. Allura nodded. 

“I’ll meet you on the confinement deck with the rest of the team,” she said. Keith gave a brief nod, and then he shut the door, and turned around.

“Hey, Shiro?” He said. “I want to believe you’re here, and you’re listening.”

“I am,” Shiro said automatically, even though he knew Keith couldn’t hear. Not anymore.

“So I wanna say it again,” Keith continued, like he hadn’t been interrupted—and from his perspective, Shiro supposed, he hadn’t been, “I’m gonna find a way to get you back. No matter what. I promise.”

“I know,” Shiro said, softly. 

If anyone could save him, no matter what it took, it was Keith. Shiro knew that. Shiro  _ trusted  _ that. 

“And, Shiro?” Keith said, voice soft and gentle. “It’s good to have you back. Even if you’re not…all the way back, yet.”

Shiro smiled, fondly.

“It’s good to be back, Keith,” he said. It didn’t matter that Keith couldn’t hear. He was sure that Keith knew anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to my beta, LainaFantasy, and of course to Alex and Kassie for their eternal encouragement <3

**Author's Note:**

> A big shoutout to my beta **LainaFantasy,** thank you so much for your help!!
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at [noirsongbird!](http://noirsongbird.tumblr.com)


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